


The Man With The Dragon Tattoo

by WoodlandGoddess1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Artist!Arthur, Assassination, Bigotry & Prejudice, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mentions of incest, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Pharmacist!Merlin, Private Investigator!Arthur, Questionable Behaviour, Reincarnation, Sort of Dark!Merlin, Switching, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodlandGoddess1/pseuds/WoodlandGoddess1
Summary: "Your life will always run in patterns, Merlin."Forged of old and tempered anew, Merlin walks a land divided by bigotry and ruled by tyranny. When the crunch comes, will he be willing to sacrifice his freedom...his life...for the sake of those he loves?Can a foe be trusted when they claim a new leaf or will Arthur's bane rise once more?





	The Man With The Dragon Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic back in 2013 and the raw version is hosted elsewhere. I decided to revamp it for relocation to AO3 a few weeks ago. I'm going to revamp/post the fic one chapter at a time and I'll update the tags whenever necessary, since I can't remember all the things I need to tag for because I haven't touched this fic in so long.
> 
> Important Things To Note: the fic isn't beta'd. All mistakes are mine. Merlin belongs to BBC/Shine and I'm just having fun in their sandbox. Any snippets of familiar dialogue from the show doesn't belong to me. All chapter titles are songs or instrumental pieces that I don't own.
> 
> Anyway, I hope we'll enjoy the ride together.

Sighing heavily, Merlin stared at his reflection in the long mirror that occupied an impressive amount of space within his small bedroom – which was rather messy; his father often expressed surprise that Merlin could navigate through it without falling over and breaking his damned neck in the middle of the night. Fortunately, Merlin had a great sense of direction even though his sense of balance could be appalling at times. But that didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered more than how he looked – he was heading out tonight and he wanted to make an impression. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help but think his reflection was lacking something, something indefinable. He looked wrong somehow. Admittedly, half of that might be because he’d become more conscious of how he looked as he grew up. Merlin contemplated his reflection for several moments more.

The black jeans he wore were purchased earlier that day, but the denim sat tight and uncomfortable. The stiff material moulded to the long lines of his legs and the sharp angles of his hips. Looking at his reflection made him feel like he was back in school.

Perish the thought.

Merlin also wore a blue shirt beneath a black waistcoat and a dark silver scarf around his neck. He narrowed his gaze as he scrutinised himself. Personally, he thought he looked like a rigid waiter after being bullied into something more casual. He was on the verge of stripping, of combing through his wardrobe to find something else to wear, when a sharp knock on the front door interrupted his contemplations. Grumbling, Merlin hastened out of his room and almost tripped down the stairs before latching on to the front door and wrenching it open to find himself receiving an enthusiastic hug.

“Ow,” Merlin complained immediately, giving the woman a shove that wasn’t one hundred percent serious. Certainly, she’d winded him in an instant…but it wasn’t so bad in the long run. Truthfully, he loved receiving hugs from his friends and family, the ones that mattered most to him in the world. He could remember the first time she’d ever hugged him with ease – she’d almost crushed him with her intensity, but she’d meant well. That was all that mattered. Merlin withdrew as soon as Freya Lake gave him the opportunity, taking in the sight of her and smiling. She wore blue jeans that moulded itself to her petite curves and a black silk top with sleeves that draped over pale skin so softly, teasing her elbows. Gold heels added several inches to her height. Golden hoops dangled from her ears and a pendant shaped like a sword glittered at the base of her throat. A handbag hung from her delicate shoulder. Merlin couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped him when he noticed something shimmering at the corner of each dark eye. “Glitter? Really, Freya?”

“You don’t look much better, Dragan.” William Prince barrelled into the house despite the two people still standing in the doorway, an irritating smirk curling around his insolent mouth when Merlin looked in his direction as soon as the words were spoken. The rudest member of his small group of friends wore dark trousers and a white shirt beneath a handsome faux-leather jacket that somehow made him look fitter than he was. His familiar voice dripped with sarcasm – as usual. “You must want to look gay, wearing that fucking scarf.”

If that comment had come from some other douchebag, he’d never have made it past the door. Merlin knew he could depend on Will when it counted. Will never weaponised his sexuality, or at least never deliberately; it would make him a flaming hypocrite and there were few things that Will hated more than those. The man was just a vulgar twat at times and Merlin loved him for that.

“Actually, I rather like this scarf.” Merlin touched the scarf lightly, his fingers almost idle. His interest in men had been known since he was a boy, ever since Will had been the first to experience his awkward fumbling attentions when he was fifteen. Most likely, it had been the result of such a close friendship and loneliness and wild hormones – a dangerous combination. “That explains it!”

The friendship Merlin shared with Freya was much more recent.

She’d come into their lives three years previously, but the three of them had been inseparable since then. Merlin had befriended her accidentally, having met her online when he was obsessed with fanfiction. It had started with infrequent interactions in the Potter fandom and had soon escalated to months of private messages before the pair had shared Facebook details at last. He’d wanted to meet her as soon as he discovered she’d lived in London as well. Will had accompanied him as back-up – just in case she turned out to be a mass-murdering bastard or a perverted old man or something.

Countless cups of coffees and herbal teas had been had since Freya walked into their lives. Not to mention biscuits and powerful nerdgasms – the likes of which he hadn’t even dared to dream about as a child. Now the three of them were preparing to hit the town together. Just the thought of it brought a grin to his face.

“Figures.” Will stared at the scarf like it might bite him for a moment and then looked away, shrugging uncaringly, his diamond earring glinting in the light illuminating the hall and spilling out into the darkness outside. His attention flicked around the place before returning to Merlin. “All set?”

Will asked the same question each time the three of them made plans to head into town and go clubbing. He knew Merlin had a head like sieve at times and needed to be prompted from time to time. Merlin checked his pockets immediately, aware that he tended to forget the small things – such as bringing his wallet or phone with him – while remembering the most important thing: locking the front door when leaving the house and leaving small notes for his father before doing so. Leaving notes for each other was one of the most important rules in the household. Neither of them ever wanted to be worried about the other and notes were a welcome precaution.

Merlin was certain he’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached to the rest of him.

Secure in the knowledge that he had the various things he needed at the ready, Merlin wrote a short note for his father, who was curled up on the sofa and snoring. His light snores travelled easily, though he’d buried his face in the soft cushions. His arm dangled over the edge of the sofa when Merlin took a moment to check on him. He knew it had been a long day; woodworking was an exhausting job. The workshop had been almost overrun with new customers over the last few months and his father deserved a rest. He’d almost stumbled through the door earlier and had conversed in tired grunts before inhaling the dinner Merlin had rustled up and crawling onto the sofa for a nap. He hadn’t even bothered to attempt watching television – which was his usual form of relaxation after work.

Smiling at the fond memory, Merlin followed his friends out of the house and shut the door carefully, not wanting to wake his father. He made sure to lock the door before the three of them piled into the black 2008 Ford Fiesta waiting for them at the kerb. Freya was their designated driver perpetually, much to her continued consternation. But there was no choice in the matter: Merlin – while he knew how to drive – didn’t have a licence at the moment and Will was allergic to responsibilities.

The three of them argued over the matter as Freya drove them out of Hammersmith and over to Southwark. Unfortunately, the familiar argument was punctuated with the usual amount of jokes and all three of them knew nothing would change in the near future.

Not until Merlin applied for a licence.

He wasn’t certain when that would happen.

Parking a short distance away, Merlin and his friends hastened down the familiar street and approached The Isle – one of the most popular clubs in London. Honestly, Merlin would have preferred to go to the cinema or something, but Will had bullied him into agreeing with the plan – just like the last time. Will would dig, and dig, and dig, and Merlin would cave eventually, throwing his arms up in pure exasperation as Will smirked at him in triumph.

The Isle was massive and it screamed money, from the gleaming countertops to the luxurious sofas in the VIP sections of the club. But the vibrant neon glow that reflected from countless surfaces throughout the club irritated him. Fortunately, he didn’t suffer from Primary Generalised Epilepsy, unlike a large number of people on the maternal side of his family; it would have made it impossible to stand the strobe lighting, which flashed through the atmospheric gloom of the club. When he’d first been dragged out clubbing, Merlin had hated the club immediately, his hackles rising for no apparent reason. His magic had swirled beneath his skin in mounting agitation. There was something off about it – like the faint trace of a vague dream about a nightmare that flooded his gut with dread. But he’d pushed those feelings aside and forced himself to relax for the sake of his friends.

Though his magic still swirled somewhat angrily, Merlin was much more comfortable with being inside the club now than he’d been then. He was almost at ease. As soon as Merlin and his friends were admitted through the guarded doorway, the three of them found a table quickly, to the left of the bar nearby, and Merlin offered to get the first round of drinks: a double-shot of whiskey, for the rudest member of their group; a coke for their designated driver; and a shot of spiced gold rum and carbonated orange for himself.

“Seriously,” Will complained loudly, shouting to be heard over the music pulsing through the club while people danced eagerly, and knowing what Merlin would order before he’d even headed to the bar. His insolent mouth curled around a grin. “You couldn’t be more of a girl! You should go for something stronger someday, Merlin!”

Merlin waved a dismissive hand at once and headed away; he’d heard similar comments each time he’d joined his friends at the club. Will didn’t seem to grasp that his appreciation for alcohol was limited to sweet beverages and the other option was to inhale a few cocktails.

But Merlin didn’t want to get hammered at The Isle.

Meandering through the thick throng of confident people dancing, Merlin moved closer to the bar with each step he took. He wanted to reach the bar quickly, but he wasn’t one for shoving people out of his way; he’d prefer to avoid being punched in the face.

He didn’t need a broken nose.

Merlin rather liked his face as it was. Frequently, Freya told him that his cheekbones could cut through diamond…but he wasn’t certain whether that was intended as a compliment or not.

Merlin wished he could claim it was smooth sailing once he reached the bar. But it took more than ten minutes to catch the attention of the bartender, who’d been just a smidgeon too busy, leaning against the countertop and chatting to a stunning woman whose raven hair was gathered stylishly, pinned in place to look unkempt. A few dark locks spilled down to tickle her strong jaw. As though she’d sensed him glaring, the woman turned her attention upon him and smirked in a manner that seemed amused and condescending all at once. Her sea-green gaze burned with something akin to subtle recognition. But Merlin was certain he’d never seen her before. He’d remember meeting someone so stunning; her face was the sort that would be imprinted upon the retinas of all men and women that looked in her direction.

It didn’t matter whether those men and women were attracted to her.

She was mesmerising.

But she was also condescending, and Merlin couldn’t help bowing sarcastically, which seemed to earn a genuine smile from the woman. She turned her head and said a few words to the bartender, who came over to him at once and asked what he’d like. Merlin blinked in surprise and intended to thank the beautiful stranger for sending the bartender his way, but she’d vanished between one moment and the next. He looked around all the same…but she was nowhere to be seen. His stomach twisted with discomfort. His magic spiked beneath his skin. Merlin turned to the bartender, who was waiting impatiently, and rattled off the order to him with a smile. His fingers tapped against the countertop as he waited and then paid for the drinks once the bartender set them down in front of him. Frowning, Merlin picked up the three drinks carefully, and began waltzing back through the dancing crowd as sweat broke out across his skin. He didn’t want to spill a single drop on someone and risk the chance of earning a punch. He didn’t want to be forced into a position where using his magic was necessary, not now, not when there were several cameras watching the dancers in attendance.

CCTV was the bane of his existence.

Merlin had almost reached the table when he tripped over his own feet. He stumbled forward and crashed into the broad chest of a strange man. Pure instinct pulsed through him and his magic flared in an instant. His heart hammering, Merlin looked around. Time had come to a stop around him. His hands tingled from the abrupt use of instinctive magic.

_Shit_.

The word echoed through his head and the tone was somewhere between outright panic and mild dismay, and rising rapidly, even as the expletive repeated itself on a loop. His sweat grew cold beneath his clothes. Merlin looked up at the cameras – frozen like the rest of the club – and then looked at the man seconds from being soaked with alcohol and carbonated minerals. The liquids were frozen in the middle of their violent arc. Merlin made a snap-decision to salvage as much of the situation as possible: a muttered spell had the glasses back in his hands and the drinks settling back down as though he’d never tripped in the first place.

Magic flared through him and his gaze burned a vibrant gold.

Time continued moving almost innocently, and Merlin looked up at the man in front of him with no small amount of fear as the magic buried itself within him between one heartbeat and the next. He hoped the glow in his gaze hadn’t been seen. The stranger was an inch shorter than him and his shoulders sloped with a masculine grace that some people would kill for. The blood-red shirt highlighted the torso of the man: he was as broad as a wardrobe and fighting fit. A gold watch that looked like it cost an arm and a leg to purchase gleamed where it sat on his thick wrist. His black trousers looked tailored and showcased the strength in his thighs exquisitely, and Merlin longed to see how the fabric showcased the curve of his thick arse. Blond hair sat in deliberate disarray, and a strong nose emphasised the slant of fine cheekbones. A strong jaw highlighted the plush curve of his mouth. The heavens existed within his gaze. He was more attractive than some random stranger had a right to be.

Unfortunately, the man ruined the view when he spoke less than a moment later.

“Watch where you’re going,” the handsome stranger snapped harshly, his once kissable mouth twisting around a derisive sneer. His broad frame tensed with displeasure. “I imagine this shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Is that so, mate?” Merlin could feel his temper rising as the condescending prat in front of him looked at him like he wasn’t worth a glass of water, let alone the time it took to voice a complaint. He might not be as rich as the stranger, but that didn’t mean he was worth less than him in the least. Merlin tried to hold on to his composure even as he continued speaking to him. “I don’t know what kind of charm school you went to, but when someone trips, you’re supposed to say, ‘Are you okay? Yeah? Good! Take care!’”

“I’m sorry,” the stranger drawled slowly, his gaze narrowing, “but do I know you?”

“I’m Merlin.”

The sorcerer spoke the words with no small amount of dignity, aware that his name had earned its fair share of mocking when he was a child and uncaring; his mother had given him that name and he was proud of it. His shoulders squared and his chin raised despite his rising temper. He ignored the sense of déjà vu that washed over him as soon as the words fell from his tongue.

“So, I _don’t_ know you.”

“No.”

“And yet you called me ‘ _mate_.’” The stranger looked at Merlin as though he were the height of stupidity, and then some. Honestly, it was a shame that such an attractive frame was wasted on a complete fucking prick.

“That was my mistake. I’d never be mates with such an arse.” Huffing indignantly, he shouldered passed the arrogant prat and ignored his shocked spluttering, and continued to the table – where Will was watching, looking torn between amusement and wanting to punch the bloke in the face for speaking to Merlin like that. Freya just looked anxious – as if she expected the prat to follow him and knock him into the table with one solid punch. Merlin would like to see him try; he could knock him into next week with a single spell. He’d have to stop time first…but he’d do it to defend himself.

“Honestly,” Merlin complained immediately, setting the drinks down on the table carefully, “people have no understanding of kindness lately; I want to know what golden bush that man crawled out of. I’d like to shove him back in.”

“I know what you mean.” Will chuckled quietly, his gaze following the arrogant prat as he ploughed through the crowd and headed for the bar. Merlin settled down beside him. “The other day, I gave up a seat on the bus for a pregnant lady, and she never said thanks. The nerve of her. The world is going to the dogs!”

The drawling tone made Merlin think of Draco Malfoy, one of the characters that Will favoured. Normally, the man hated arrogant toe-rags like Draco. Certainly, he’d hated Draco when he first began reading, but that hatred morphed into appreciation with each subsequent readthrough as Will noticed more and more of the complexities that made the character.

But his character preferences didn’t matter much at the moment.

Merlin frowned down at his rum and orange and spent several minutes thinking about the incident with the arrogant prat. He wondered what made his magic react so suddenly; it hadn’t been the first time he’d tripped and it wouldn’t be the last. It was no excuse for his magic to leap out of his skin in less than an instant and stop the flow of time around him. A close friend of his father – Dr Gaius Oldman – had spent _years_ training him to keep his magic under control. He was supposed to use it when necessary, and wisely, but the incident with the arrogant prat had been neither of those. It had been an opportunistic use of his magic and Gaius would disapprove. There was just something about that prat…about this club in general…that made his magic want to leap out of his skin at the hint of trouble – major or minor.

He’d have to nip that in the bud.

Pushing his worries away, Merlin took a swig of his drink and appreciated the sharp heat of the spiced rum fused with the sweet zest of carbonated orange. He didn’t care that Will thought it girly; the combination tasted delicious. Eventually, Merlin fell into shouted conversation with his friends and the discussion ranged from the Potter fandom to the fall in manners coinciding with the rise of natural beauty, and all the weird things that fell in between. After the third round of drinks – an offering from Will – Merlin was merry, and he allowed Freya to drag him out on the dancefloor. He had to admit the club broadcasted great music: the classics pulsed out of the speakers frequently, and a few modern rock songs were broadcasted intermittently, but no dance music ever made it into the club. Merlin and his friend lost themselves in the dancing, grinding crowd as Kansas’ _Carry on My Wayward Son_ vibrated through their flesh and bones.

Merlin had never been into dancing, not until he met Freya. He’d often been awkward and gangly, not to mention uncoordinated. His lack of coordination had been rather humiliating when he’d been a teenager. He was still gangly, but he was now more confident in the movements of his body, and Freya had been one of the biggest reasons for that. She’d often cajoled him into being more outgoing. Sometimes he wondered why, but deep down he knew the reason was because she believed no one should be ashamed of their body, no matter their size or levels of coordination. Merlin and Freya danced though several songs and then he couldn’t help caving, the muscles in his arms and legs burning. He returned to the table and Freya followed along, an exhilarated grin on her face. One would think Christmas had come early, based on her expression alone. Merlin gave her a light shove when she joked about his stepping on her feet and Freya shoved him right back – though she didn’t seem to know her own strength.

The force of the blow sent him sprawling across Will – who’d been in the middle of downing his latest double of whiskey, the glass almost toppling out of his hand. His gaze widened comically, and his face reddened as Will started coughing. Merlin apologised as he scrambled away, relocating himself and laughing as he slapped his back with helpful vigour.

“Fuck off!” Will shouted the words through his ragged coughing, and batted his hands away, which prompted more laughter from Merlin.

“Ungrateful swine.”

Will glared at him through a veil of tears as the coughing faded away, but the glare didn’t last long and soon the three of them burst into a fit of giggles that seemed to last forever.

“You two are just hopeless.” Freya rested her forehead against her glass of coke. She seemed to appreciate the cold beads of condensation that drenched the glass. A warm smile curled around her mouth.

“Hey, now. Don’t forget: you’re a member of this hopeless group too.” Merlin stuck his tongue out at his friend and then almost bit through it when she kicked him under the table. “Ow!”

“Don’t be a baby, Merlin.”

“A baby, am I?” His tone light enough to suggest mild teasing, Merlin turned to face Will and arched a questioning brow. “Was I the one who cried when Sirius Black fell through the veil?”

“Nah.” Will shook his head and smiled in amusement as the woman grew sulky, and went on to say, “That was all her.”

“Shut up! Sirius’ death was traumatising,” Freya answered heatedly, scowling, her cheeks flushing with the strength of her irritation. “I’m just glad we didn’t get a graphic description of Remus’ death as well. That would have killed me completely, you know. My poor babies!”

The sad part was that she was growing upset over it.

Merlin reached out and patted her hand sympathetically, being no stranger to weeping over fictitious characters and their disastrous lives. He’d done so in the past on countless occasions. He’d cried for almost a week after he read the Once and Future King, and his father had done his best to comfort him in the wake of having his heart ripped out of his chest for the billionth time since he’d developed a taste for reading. His brand of comfort meant nursing a cup of tea while the pair of them stared at nothing, Merlin sniffling and his father a warm presence at his side while the absence of his mother made itself more than apparent all over again. His father had never been great at comforting him. But he’d still tried and Merlin appreciated that effort even now. He appreciated the warm hand that would settle upon his shoulder and squeeze lightly, not to mention the quiet words that prompted him to start talking. He appreciated the strong arm that would draw him close afterwards.

Freya turned her hand over and brought him back to the present. She tangled their fingers together for a moment. Merlin squeezed her hand with his. Freya had been a passionate Wolfstar shipper since she’d been old enough to ship. When questioned about her shipping, she’d been vague enough in her reasoning, but Merlin had gleaned that it had something to do with Remus being unable to control the beast within and Sirius being one of the few that accepted him regardless.

Apparently, it was a magical combination.

As their mutual friend continued moping, Will and Merlin shared a glance and began consoling her, coaxing her back to her usual level of happiness. It took some time…but the two of them managed it in the end.

Merlin sat back and sipped his drink quietly, heat suffusing his cheeks. That was when the phone in his back pocket vibrated sharply, startling him. He almost dropped his drink all over his lap. He set it down quickly, reaching for his phone with his other hand. He opened a text from his father and frowned immediately, puzzling over the words: s _tay with friends tonight._

That was unusual.

His frown deepening, Merlin debated texting back.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Merlin answered quickly, raising his head as his friends gazed at him in blatant concern. He told himself there was no cause for alarm and then slipped his phone back into his pocket. His mouth contorted into an approximation of his usual grin. Will and Freya exchanged a glance and then looked at him simultaneously, but Merlin dismissed their concern with a wave of his hand. More than likely, his father just wanted a quiet night after doing so much hard work and didn’t want to deal with a drunken and graceless lad stumbling up the stairs in the middle of the night. Merlin ignored the niggling doubts that gnawed at the back of his mind. “I’m fine. Dad just wants me to have a good time tonight.”

Will didn’t argue after that. He and Merlin got more sloshed as the pair continued drinking, though the sorcerer did stop at his limit. Will did no such thing. He continued until he couldn’t stand from the strength of his giggles.

It was three in the morning when the two of them stumbled away, Will and Merlin leaning on each other while their designated driver brought up the rear and shoved at the air behind them as though she were herding sheep. The three of them piled into the car eventually, the two men slumping against each other in the backseat and giggling, and Freya soon parked the car outside a block of flats on Cromwell Road in South Kensington. She ushered them up several flights of stairs and into her flat. Will and Merlin stumbled through the door, the weight of the former almost sending the latter to the floor.

“Let go! You’re too fucking heavy,” Merlin joked as he shoved Will onto the sofa. He laughed as the man cursed gruffly, fighting against the cushions for several hilarious moments.

“Shut up. You love me.” It took a moment for Merlin to understand him: Will was speaking rapidly, and slurring heavily, and talking into the cushions wasn’t helping matters in the least. Merlin almost choked on another burst of laughter when the man managed to hook an ankle with his foot and pull the legs out from under him. He landed on him less than an instant later and Will cursed before breaking down into a fit of laughter. High on sugar, Freya pounced and perched herself on top while crowning herself queen of the rock. Groaning, Will and Merlin pushed and shoved at each other in an attempt to dislodge her from her perch. It failed spectacularly, however, so Will reached around him and pinched her arse without a single word of warning, earning a squeak and a wild flail. Freya jumped from her perch like a cat whose tail had been trodden upon. “Some queen of the rock!”

“Don’t scare me like that!” Freya smacked his arm. “You’re such an arse!”

Laughing, Merlin pulled himself away, and almost toppled to the floor in the process. He stumbled into the spare bedroom while Freya fetched a pillow and blanket for the oaf now snuggling into her sofa. He pulled off his clothes and dumped them on the floor before climbing into bed and snuggling into the pillows. His mind and body, still filled with the heat and buzz of dancing and drinking, took a while to calm down enough to drift away, to slip into dreams:

_A man crowned with golden hair stood arrogantly, surrounded with peers as entitled as himself. Merlin recognised him in an instant – it was the handsome man he’d bumped into at the club, but he was different too. He was young, much too young, and still growing into the noble contours of his face._

_It was the same man._

_But it couldn’t be._

_Not when a gleaming plate of armour sat across his collarbone and made his red tunic twice as striking. Not when more armour decorated both of his strong wrists and his right shoulder. The vambraces and spaulder, Merlin knew, though he didn’t have a fucking clue how he knew that. The words had come unbidden to his mind – as if he had known them all along but had forgotten for some unfathomable reason. The fabric of his brown breeches brushed against two sheathed swords slung from a handsome leather belt that emphasised the strength of his waist. Dark leather gloves encased large hands. He was a vision of beauty, but for the cruel and mocking attitude being directed at a man without the blessing of such a strong frame and struggling under the weight of a target._

_His own mind seemed disconnected from his body, his limbs bearing him forward against his will. He tried to dig in his heels and found it fruitless. But he could feel the righteous irritation pulsing through his veins. The sensation felt familiar and foreign simultaneously, as did the lift of his chin as he intervened at once. The exchange of dialogue between himself and the arrogant prat in front of him wasn’t dissimilar from the exchange he’d had with the handsome prat at the club. But the interaction went even further than that. He felt himself gearing up for a fight and knew he was fucked as soon as he threw a punch in anger, soon finding his arm twisted behind him painfully, the arrogant prat flush against his back as he purred almost silkily, “I’ll have to throw you in jail for that.”_

_“Who do you think you are?” The scoff in his own uncontrollable voice was blatant. It earned jeers and hisses and laughs from the entitled crowd watching the interaction between them. “The King?”_

_“No.” He could hear the prat smirking, his amusement growing. “I’m his son: Arthur.”_

_Immediately, Merlin knew he was so much more than fucked._

_Scenes whooshed past him in rapid succession. Some were longer than others. But all of them were disjointed to within an inch of their intangible lives and reduced to nonsensical sensations without an ounce of context. Merlin felt himself slow time and start running, his heart in his throat as he seized broad shoulders and heaved roughly, time quickening as the pair toppled to the floor together. He felt his heart clench in his chest as he witnessed the coming of Lancelot. He felt heat burn through his veins as his own clinical fingers brushed against soft skin each morning and evening, curling around fabric that smelled of fresh flowers or a combination of leather and sweat and danger. He felt searing heat against his sternum as fire struck him._

_He tasted the sharp tang of fear at the back of his throat._

_A lone voice broke through the imagery, deep and ancient. It sounded so familiar that Merlin thought he’d break apart under the force of emotions now exploding through the depths of his chest. An unfathomable sense of relief and dread waged war within his heart as the voice rumbled urgently, invoking his name._

_Merlin opened his mouth to shout a response and –_

He woke suddenly, sucking in air like a swimmer breaking the surface after a prolonged dive beneath the crushing waves. He arched up from the bed as though someone had pulled upon his ribs with twine before slumping back against the mattress and pillows. His slender frame trembled. Cold sweat drenched his skin. He told himself there weren’t tears still clinging to his lashes as he forced himself to sit up and scrubbed at his face with the heels of his hands before running one of them through hair now damp with sweat. He couldn’t shake the images from his dream. The acrid tang of fear still stained the back of his throat and his stomach clenched sharply, urging him out of bed and into the bathroom. He gripped the sink for a moment and just focused on his breathing, flashes of his dreams flickering through his mind when he squeezed his eyes shut against the nausea churning through him.

“You drank too much last night.” Merlin raised his head and stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He looked as though he’d aged a decade for an instant before he blinked and the distortion faded. His mouth was dry, his head was pulsating, and Merlin knew it must be the reason for his strange dreams and for his even stranger reaction to the images that plagued him even now. He ran a shaking hand over a sternum decorated with dark hair. He was fine. It was just a fucking dream. Merlin swallowed thickly, murmuring, “You must have.”

Merlin spent a few minutes taking care of personal matters in the bathroom before returning to the spare bedroom and dressing, doing his best to ignore the tremors still affecting his hands. He ignored the sense of wrongness that followed him into the kitchen. A plate of food that looked more like a plate of grease waited for him on the table. Their designated driver stood sentinel over the plate in an attempt to be menacing, but the effect was lost when he spotted the grease-smeared spatula in her hand.

Will had stumbled out of bed before him. He was now seated at the table and eating eagerly, alternating between a sandwich stuffed with fried sausages and rashers and other things and drinking from a steaming cup of coffee – black with two spoons of sugar.

Merlin’s stomach churned at the sight of his own plate. His nausea worsened when Will grinned wickedly, bits of food sticking out through his teeth. He flipped him the bird at once and looked away, vowing to ignore the disgusting git completely, taking a seat at the table. He looked down at his own plate of grease as Will continued to stuff his face with a sandwich that just about managed to fit into his mouth. He glanced at Freya as she turned away, pottering around the kitchen before settling down at the table with a plate of scrambled egg and baked beans on toast for herself. He looked down at her plate and licked his lips. Freya raised her fork threateningly, snapping, “Don’t even think about it. Eat your grease – it’ll do you good.”

“You’re such a buzz-kill.”

“You love it.”

“I don’t know about that.” Merlin harrumphed and shook his head before lifting his own fork and tucking in to his own breakfast. “Thanks for breakfast. You didn’t have to.”

Freya smiled and said nothing, though there was an edge of sadness to the expression that he couldn’t explain. But he knew she’d discuss a serious matter without hesitation and wasn’t worried. She’d never failed to discuss such things with him before. She trusted him more than she’d ever trusted others – even Will and he was one of her closest friends. Merlin shook his head and focused on his breakfast. Freya must have read some depressing fanfiction while waiting for them to wake up or something; her tastes in fanfiction tended to be masochistic in nature. The more a fanfiction made her cry, the more she loved it.

While eating, Merlin ended up drinking half a jug of water to quench his thirst and chatting to his friends about nothing in particular. He didn’t mention his dreams or the sense of wrongness that lingered in his gut. He focused on his friends in an attempt to ignore it. He and Will remained at the flat for the rest of the day, helping to cook dinner when the time came before settling down on the sofa to watch several episodes of Doctor Who on DVD. It was just what he needed after his strange dreams. There was nothing quite as comforting as a madman careening through space and time in a big blue box. The show was confusing as fuck and hilarious and suspenseful. The child wearing the gas mask freaked Merlin out the most – but he’d never admit that fact out loud: Will would never let him live it down.

When Merlin headed home – via the bus – it was with a spring in his step.

Unfortunately, that treasured spring in his step faltered as soon as he reached the house after a short walk from the bus stop. The house was dark and quiet – unusual for that hour. He’d have expected to see familiar lights spilling through the gaps in the curtains. His forehead creasing with worry, Merlin approached the house cautiously, his magic leaping to the tips of his fingers in preparation. His magic writhed with increasing agitation within him and strained at the tight leash he kept upon his power. The front door swung open on silent hinges when he touched it and his abdomen tightened uncomfortably, knowing the door should be locked. He stepped through the doorway, his magic tingling, desperate to be used.

It took all of his strength to rein it in.

Merlin called out for his father and heard no reply, though he knew there could be a number of reasons for such silence. His father might have thought he’d locked the door when leaving for the workshop that morning, but there could have been a break-in with just as much ease. It was hard to tell without inspecting the house. He tried not to jump to conclusions. The lights switched on without his touch as he used his magic carefully, a spell falling from his lips on a whisper. He called out for his father again and waited a beat before moving further into the house. He moved through the house slowly, checking the rooms carefully, his heart in his mouth the whole time. The kitchen and living room were tidy, but lived in. The bathroom was the same. Merlin checked his own room to be thorough before moving on to the master bedroom. The room was empty; the bed hadn’t been slept in and Merlin knew that because he was the one that dressed the bed each morning – a habit instilled within him since he’d been a child and one that his father had failed to absorb when he’d married.

The bed looked as pristine as ever.

His stomach knotting, Merlin pulled his phone from his pocket and called the workshop immediately, but no one answered. He then called his father directly, but it went straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message and punched in the number for Gaius’ phone instead. Mercifully, the elder sorcerer and doctor wasn’t working, and answered after two rings.

“What?”

“I think we have a problem.” Merlin couldn’t help smiling despite the situation at hand: Gaius had never been one for pleasantries and he was glad to see that hadn’t changed in the least. “Dad isn’t here and his phone is dead or turned off. No one answered at the workshop either.”

“The workshop should be closed at this hour.”

“Usually, yes. But there was an influx in customers over the last few months and Dad was working late for a while. If he was still working, someone would be there to answer the phone. Dad has the key; no one else can open or lock up the workshop.”

“This absence isn’t like him then.”

“No.” Merlin headed back down the stairs as he agreed. His heart hammered in his chest as he was forced to acknowledge the short text he’d received from his father the night before. “I’m worried. He sent me a text last night instructing me to kip with friends for the night. That isn’t like him either.”

A silence thick with meaning fell between them for a moment.

“Okay,” Gaius said eventually, his tone firm and reassuring. “I’m leaving the house now. I’ll check out his old haunts and if I find something, I’ll call. Otherwise we’ll have to call the police when I arrive and file a missing person’s report. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Gaius hung up without another word and Merlin felt bereft at once. There was nothing left for him to do now, but sit in the kitchen and wait patiently, though patience seemed to be outside his range of capabilities at the moment. He set his phone on the table in front of him and watched it intently, fidgeting, waiting for Gaius to ring and inform him that he’d found his father somewhere unexpected.

Gaius arrived at the house an hour and a half after their call had finished and burst through the front door without knocking. Merlin raised his head immediately, his chest swelling with irrational hope. But his father didn’t follow behind the man. He hadn’t been found at his old haunts at all. His stomach knotting, Merlin reached for his phone as the elder sorcerer pottered around the kitchen and made a pot of tea without prompting. He hesitated to make the call as he watched Gaius set the pot down on the table – the man had featured somewhat in his dreams the night before and Merlin wasn’t sure what to make of it. He’d recognised some faces instantly, but he hadn’t recognised others…though their names had come to his mind all the same.

It was disconcerting.

Merlin began cataloguing the difference between Gaius and the figure from his dreams. The man in front of him had hair shorn close to his head and rectangular glasses sat upon the bridge of his shrewd nose. He had far less wrinkles and carried far less weight on his aging shoulders. He wore a wedding ring, the surface of which glinted with each movement he made as he retrieved milk and sugar and cups from the fridge and cupboards. He’d married a woman named Alice when he wasn’t much more than a boy; sometimes the pair would look at Merlin and then share an indecipherable glance. It often discomfited Merlin when he was a child and he’d first relocated to London with his father. Merlin had grown accustomed to it before long, though it still made it seem as though Gaius and Alice knew something about him that he didn’t know. Which wasn’t a pleasant feeling in the least. Merlin was still watching him when Gaius set a cup in front of him and said gently, “That call won’t make itself.”

Merlin startled when Gaius touched his shoulder.

“My boy,” the elder sorcerer continued just as gently, his brow furrowing with worry, “is something troubling you? Aside from this unfortunate situation with Balinor, I mean.”

“Just some weird dreams.” Merlin responded quietly, almost nonchalantly, but Gaius looked at him as though he’d just announced that he wanted to dress in drag and do the hula on Christmas morning. His eyes sparkled behind his glasses. He looked as though he were struggling not to grin like an idiot and Merlin couldn’t fathom why; his strange dreams weren’t humorous. “Nothing important. We can talk about them later.”

Merlin shook his head and left him to his thoughts as he searched through his contacts for the number of the local precinct. He’d had the number stored in his phone since he bought it – one never knew when calling the police would be on the table. His frame tensed as he waited to be patched through to one of the desks after spending several long moments recounting the details of the situation to the woman manning dispatch and then he experienced a wave of relief when one of the detectives spoke to him at last. The voice of Detective Inspector Lott sounded so familiar and reassuring, though he couldn’t place the voice at all. His hand tightened around the phone as his magic surged beneath his skin. It wasn’t unlike what he’d experienced at the club, but much more pleasant – and not just because the man had a voice viable for phone sex.

Unfortunately, the man almost choked when Merlin said his name.

“What?”

“You heard me.” His frustration rising, Merlin closed his eyes. This happened all the fucking time and he was getting sick of it. “I’m Merlin Dragan. D-R-A-G-A-N.”

“Yeah. I got that bit. Your surname isn’t the problem.” Disbelief rang through his Irish lilt. Not to mention an ocean of blatant amusement. Merlin raised his gaze upwards and begged for enough strength to survive the phone call. “Seriously, your name is Merlin? Like the wizard?”

Sighing heavily, his patience dwindling, Merlin replied sharply, “Yeah. It isn’t that comical or unusual. You know, there are a whole sub-set of falcons with that name. Falcons are cool. A merlin is a bird of prey, mate.”

“I know that.” Detective Inspector Lott smirked audibly, and the sound had Merlin wanting to hang up. The smirk eased after a moment and Merlin could almost hear the cogs in his head whirring before he continued talking, his tone low and contemplative and warm. “I knew a Merlin once – a long time ago – and he was much braver and far less incompetent than he let certain people believe. But moving on: my partner and I will be there swiftly, since we’re nearing the end of our shift. Cheerio!”

The detective hung up and Merlin lowered his phone. He stared down at it as though it might jump up and bite him. His conversation with Detective Inspector Lott left him feeling wrong-footed at best. It wasn’t just the fact that the man sounded familiar, but the phrases he used as well. Incompetence was one of the various flaws the arrogant prat – _Arthur_ , his mind murmured in a traitorous fashion – had accused him of in his strange dreams. His stomach twisted. He told himself it was a coincidence as he continued to stare down at his phone for several long moments.

Gaius cleared his throat and Merlin looked at him at once.

“Tell me more about these strange dreams.”

So, Merlin did.          

**Author's Note:**

> If people are interested in seeing more writing from yours truly, or wish to contact me privately, feel free to visit pocketscribbles.com


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